


solid gone

by harinezumi_kun



Category: Arashi (Band), Freeter Ie o Kau, Uta no Onii-san
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, M/M, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-12
Updated: 2011-01-12
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:39:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harinezumi_kun/pseuds/harinezumi_kun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>serendipitous porny rendezvous in a club bathroom. yup.</p>
            </blockquote>





	solid gone

**Author's Note:**

> so, i believe this got requested on a smut meme some time ago, and the prompt has been living in my head for a while. utter silliness, with an odd little splash of angst at the end. idek.

Seiji is not sure how he ended up in a club. 

Seiji doesn’t usually go to clubs, as he doesn’t usually hang out with the kind of hip young people who frequent clubs. No, despite being in his early twenties, Seiji usually hangs out at smoky bars or izakayas with his middle-aged co-workers, drinking beers and warbling enka tunes when the alcohol starts to kick in. He does not hang out at clubs, where the music is loud and the fashion is louder and everyone stands much too close. 

But after the promotion, he effectively became “the new guy” all over again and has to say “yes” whenever any of his seniors invite him to go out anywhere. The girls who invited him, however, disappeared onto the dance floor hours ago, leaving Seiji stranded at the bar next to a surly-looking young man in a leather jacket.

But really, more important than what he’s doing at a club is the first place, is how he ended up in the bathroom of the club, crammed into a locked stall with the aforementioned surly-looking man, quickly working up to what is going to be—he can already tell—a really phenomenal orgasm.

Well, the easy answer is that Kenta—at least Seiji got the guy’s name before they started grinding against each other—grabbed him by the wrist and pulled and Seiji followed. Kenta’s intent had been very clear when his fingers had closed around Seiji’s arm—as a matter of fact, it had been very clear since about the second drink, shoulder to shoulder at the bar and getting friendlier by the minute, and somehow Seiji had not minded being leered at all that much. Kenta had looked just about as miserable as Seiji felt, and it was nice in a _schadenfreude_ kind of way.

“Can I?”

Seiji is jerked back to the present by the sound of Kenta’s voice in his ear. Even in the bathroom, the music is so loud that Seiji can barely hear him. For a moment, he has no idea what Kenta’s talking about—of course he can, they’re in here already, aren’t they?—and then he feels Kenta’s fingers fumbling with the button of his jeans, not really waiting for a reply, and he nods quickly.

Briefly, Seiji muses that this should feel a lot weirder, dirtier, but then Kenta’s hand is on him and all he can think is: _more_.

He arches up into the touch with an open-mouthed gasp, then realizes belatedly that he should be reciprocating. Seiji struggles with Kenta’s pants—button, fly, boxers, really too much to bother with at a moment like this—but then he gets there, feels the solid weight of Kenta in his palm for a moment before picking up the other man’s rhythm. 

_Rhythm_ , Seiji thinks a little wildly, _he’s a musician, he’s got good rhythm, he’s good, god—_

Because he had said, in the time they had spent at the bar getting wasted enough to think this was a good idea, he had said, “I used to be in a band.”

“Oh?” 

Generally, Seiji wouldn’t care about Kenta’s band, wouldn’t care about Kenta at all, wouldn’t be in this club at all, but tonight he was, and there was something easy and familiar about Kenta, and Seiji found that he did care.

“Yeah,” Kenta continued, savoring a morose scowl for a moment. “And then they dumped me.”

“Dumped you?”

“Left, just like that,” and Kenta snaps his fingers to punctuate the last word. “Announced it at the end of the show, without even telling me.”

Seiji nodded his understanding. “Yeah, that’s rough. But that’s how it goes, right?”

“You get dumped, too?” Kenta asked, already slinging a sympathetic arm around Seiji’s shoulders.

“Nah,” Seiji answered, surprised at himself for not shrugging the other man off right away. “Not exactly. It’s like that, though—decent highschool, decent college, entry-level job at a decent company, and then? Turns out I hate it. These people are crazy. So after three months, I quit, get stuck with part-time jobs for a year, and then…”

“I feel you, man,” Kenta sighed. “That’s life, right? And then the next thing you know you’re wearing an acorn-suit on some kid’s show, man, and the crazy thing? The day you realize: you love your job.”

“Uh…yeah,” Seiji agreed, though Kenta was staring thoughtfully into his drink and not paying much attention. “Something like that.” 

Because Seiji does understand. Maybe his wasn’t an acorn-suit, whatever that’s supposed to mean, but there was the day when Seiji realized he didn’t hate shoveling gravel and laying asphalt. Maybe he even loved it a little.

And then they ordered another round, and it just went downhill from there. Or was it uphill? Whichever one indicated a positive result, because Seiji would definitely classify this as a positive—if bizarre—situation. Kenta has clever hands (his other one has found its way up Seiji’s shirt) and Seiji doesn’t feel like he’s doing nearly enough for Kenta, but he’s having a hard enough time concentrating as it is.

Then, suddenly, Kenta’s face is much closer, breath ghosting across Seiji’s cheek, and he asks again: “Can I?”

Seiji blinks heavily, stutters out a “What?”

“Kiss you,” Kenta clarifies, and Seiji has a moment to realize they haven’t actually kissed yet and to think that it’s kind of charming for Kenta to ask, before he is moving his free hand from Kenta’s shoulder to the back of Kenta’s head and pulling him in.

And that just about _does it_ for Seiji, Kenta’s tongue and lips and tongue and teeth, and his hand still moving feverishly fast. Seiji speeds up in a desperate attempt to bring Kenta along with him, but he’s in freefall now, it’s a matter of seconds, really, and he just has time for a choked gasp.

“Ah—!”

Then he’s gone, shaking and hanging on to Kenta’s neck through the spasms that wash over him. As he’s coming out of the haze, Seiji is vaguely aware of Kenta, still rocking against him, into his hand, with frantic little noises.

“Hey,” Kenta murmurs, “look at me? Would you, just for a…”

Still mostly on autopilot, Seiji looks up, finds Kenta right there, eyes dilated and hungry, and it must do something for Kenta because all of a sudden he grunts, shudders, and sticky warmth spills over Seiji’s hand.

They stand there, foreheads pressed together, letting their breathing even out. Then, as the pleasant tingle starts to recede, awkwardness begins to set in.

Seiji takes his hand out of Kenta’s pants, moves his other one down and away from Kenta’s neck, a place that suddenly feels much too intimate. Kenta backs away as well, fumbling at the toilet paper roll and handing some to Seiji. They clean themselves up in silence, except for a bit of foot-shuffling and throat-clearing.

“Well,” Kenta says eventually. “That was, uh—”

“Yeah,” Seiji agrees quickly, not wanting to hear the end of the sentence, the “nice” or “fun” that will make the whole thing that much more embarrassing.

“So—” Kenta tries again, but Seiji speaks over him.

“There’s this girl. That I’m seeing.”

“Oh. Right, sure.”

Another awkward silence, then Kenta tosses his wad of paper into the toilet and straightens up from where he was slouched against the stall divider.

“Well, then,” he says. Seiji nods vaguely, throwing his own wad of toilet paper away. When he glances up, he finds Kenta looking straight at him.

“Guess I’ll never see you again,” Kenta says. It’s almost— _almost_ —a question.

“Nope,” Seiji answers. “Guess not.”

Kenta nods once and, without looking away, leans in close again.

“Goodbye,” he says, too softly to really be heard.

Then they kiss, and it is chaste and gentle, and so much more tender than it has any right to be.

“Bye,” Seiji murmurs, and he keeps his eyes closed.

He doesn’t open them again until Kenta is gone.


End file.
